


bitters & absolut

by elithewho



Category: Babylon Berlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Drug Use, F/M, Getting Together, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: It made him sick to think of Charlotte being used as some bit of local hospitality. That’s why it upset him so much. Because Charlotte deserved better. Yeah, that was why.Charlotte has a beau and Gereon is definitely not seething with jealousy.
Relationships: Gereon Rath/Charlotte Ritter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	bitters & absolut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BitchBot3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitchBot3000/gifts).



> Merry Yuletide!! Hope you like ;D
> 
> thanks to my boo for all the support <3

Gereon slept poorly. Again. He found himself rising late, aches and pains making him groan. Hands shaking. The usual. A shot of morphine cleared that all up. Good as new. 

Or so he told himself, riding the tram, a whole half-hour late, but at least he had breakfast. He wouldn’t have bothered, but he knew what he’d find when he arrived at The Castle with two pastries filled with jam; Charlotte, already at work for hours, having only consumed cigarettes and a black coffee to start her day. 

“Morning,” he muttered, standing before her desk. 

She looked up at him, brow furrowed from concentration at first, but the way her eyes lit up at the sight of the offered pastry made the whole trip worth it. 

“Accidentally bought two,” he said with a casual shrug and Charlotte quickly snatched it from his hand. She no longer looked the studious and hardworking criminal assistant, face bright with a wide smile. 

“Thanks,” she said, immediately digging in. “The hotel owner is finally coming in for questioning,” came through a mouthful of pastry. 

Gereon nodded; the sight of Charlotte’s always healthy appetite made him feel well enough to actually eat his own breakfast. They’d been playing a frustrating game of phone tag with the owner of a hotel where wealthy, foreign patrons came to play while staying in Berlin. There’d been a murder in one of the rooms and he was being egregiously coy about providing a guest list or submitting to questioning. It was typical, really. Rich men with rich, filthy secrets. 

But they were still waiting around midday when Charlotte came in to ask if he was hungry for lunch. 

“Aschinger?” she said brightly. “I’m starving.” 

Gereon sighed deeply, groping for his cigarettes. He’d had so many already his ashtray was in danger of overflowing. “We’re still waiting on what’s his name. Godfrey.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He’ll show up when he does. Come on, it’s on me.” 

But Gereon shook his head, unwilling to surround himself with crowds of people at the moment. Charlotte’s smile was sweet, wheedling, but it fell away when he refused her. 

“Suit yourself,” she said with the slightest edge in her voice. 

Now even she was annoyed with him. Gereon rubbed savagely at his temple where a piercing headache was beginning to form. It appeared as though he were infecting the whole station with his foul mood. Even Charlotte, with her deep well of optimism, was clearly getting tired of it. 

Well, he wasn’t sleeping. Nothing new there. Nightmares worse than ever, though he’d never admit it. His flat was empty, desolate. In the pale gloom of early morning it always looked like an abandoned house, gray and cracking and falling to disrepair. His bed large, hard as a rock and discomforting since... well, since Helga left. Tears in her eyes, begging him to understand. They’d danced to that song once before. 

_“Please, darling, understand.”_

_He couldn’t bear to hear her call him darling. Not now, not like this._

_“Your father wants it to be this way. Anno has the money to take care of me, of our family, children when they come... and —”_

_He didn’t need to hear the rest of her statement, the one that cut off abruptly, as though snipped with scissors._ And you — you’re not rich, you’re not a doctor, you’re not Anno. _It was the story he’d heard so many times he could recite it by heart._

Now she was gone again, and Moritz with her. To be with a man who could take proper care of her. Like Gereon never could. 

He was so deep in his misery that he hardly noticed Charlotte returning from lunch, and her sharp tap on his door startled him. 

“He’s here!” she hissed and he leapt up, grabbing his jacket and stubbing out his cigarette in the same motion. 

George Godfrey was not what Gereon had expected. He knew the man was British, wealthy as sin, possibly nobility. He’d expected someone old, corpulent, dripping in a thick coat of sleaze. But the man in the station now was tall and thin, perhaps Gereon’s own age, bracingly handsome, in a pale pink suit and straw hat, red carnation in his lapel, as though he were off for a yacht party and not a police interrogation. Gereon disliked him immediately. 

As they approached, Gereon went to introduce himself, shake the man’s hand if he must, but he was apparently invisible now because Godfrey did not even look at him as he turned towards Charlotte, reaching for her hand. 

“My goodness,” he said with flippant gallantry. “A flower among the weeds. You must be an actress, no? A model?” 

British, yes, though his German was quite good. With Charlotte’s hand in his, he bent to kiss her knuckles, sweeping off his ridiculous hat. She laughed uncertainly, glancing at Gereon, who couldn’t quite summon the ability to share in the joke. What with him being a weed and all.

“I’m a criminal assistant,” she said, still smiling, and annoyingly, not removing her hand from his. “Charlotte Ritter.” 

Godfrey’s eyes lit up and he did look genuinely impressed. “A criminal assistant. How utterly extraordinary. I suppose it would be a wretched conflict of interest to ask you to dinner then?” 

Gereon had the urge to grab the man by the lapel of his stupid suit and shake him off her. But to his horror, Charlotte actually _laughed._ And not derisively, but as though she were genuinely _flattered._

“I think so,” she said, eyes still sparkling, a charming little scrunch in her nose. 

“A pity,” Godfrey drawled, and Gereon had really had enough. 

“Inspector Rath,” he said sharply, cutting in so Godfrey would be forced to look at him. “George Godfrey, is it?” 

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” he said, finally looking away from Charlotte to shake Gereon’s hand with all the firmness of fresh pasta. “Lord Cairns, technically, but that hardly matters here.” He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, and Gereon felt rage boil inside him. 

“No, it doesn’t, not at all. You’re finally ready to play nice with us?” 

“Now that my lawyer has given me permission, that is.” More of those grating chuckles. “However... ah, Commissioner Böhm, that’s the man.” 

Böhm strode up to lead Godfrey and his lawyer to a private room. “That will be all, Rath, Ritter,” he said with a dismissive nod. 

“I do hope we’ll meet again soon, Deputy Ritter,” Godfrey said with what he probably thought was a charming smile. He barely had a glance for Gereon. 

Gereon was grinding his teeth as he watched them disappear and he turned to Charlotte, hoping for, at least, a little shared disappointment. She was still smiling. Gereon felt his anger rise twofold at least. “Nobility,” Gereon sneered, fishing his pocket for his cig case. “The British should have gotten rid of them too.” 

“You’re probably right,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “But... it’s not like he did the murder.” 

Gereon looked up at her in alarm, cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What, you’ll go on a date with him now?” 

Charlotte grinned a little smugly to herself and Gereon felt a twisting knife in his heart. “Just saying, he might tell me things he won’t tell Böhm, don’t you think?” 

Gereon only grunted, trying to light his cig and failing twice before it caught. 

“Strictly for the case, I'd consider it,” she said with an elegant shrug and Gereon couldn’t even respond. 

He strode off to the sanctuary of his office, more annoyed than perhaps he had any right to be, slamming the door with far more passion than he intended. Alone, he pulled out the file on said murder victim. A man in his late fifties, middle class, married with three children. No enemies to speak of, not the type to stay in a high-class hotel, especially not one so close to his house. And it had been like wading through a thick mire trying to investigate without a proper guestlist, and _Lord Cairns_ being such a smarmy, unhelpful ass. 

And now Charlotte would like to go to dinner with him. For the case, she claimed, but Gereon wasn’t stupid. He stared at the report unseeing, his vision filled only with the look on Charlotte’s face while Godfrey flirted with her. Really, it shouldn’t bother him. Charlotte could go to dinner with anyone she liked. And Godfrey was rich, handsome, clearly very charming… allegedly. But Gereon didn’t trust him for a minute; he couldn’t possibly have good intentions. Oh, he’d flounce into town like a preening peacock, flirt with all the local girls with the hope of getting them into bed, and then move on. It made him sick to think of Charlotte being used as some bit of local hospitality. That’s why it upset him so much. Because Charlotte deserved better. Yeah, that was why. 

~~~ 

Charlotte arrived at the restaurant at quarter past nine. Early enough to make it seem like traffic had been keeping her and late enough to make him wait a little. George was clearly a man who was used to getting most everything he asked for and while Charlotte was certainly flattered, she wasn’t going to give in to him that easy. 

Still, she had chosen one of her favourite beaded frocks that she’d “borrowed” from Moka Efti, and had taken particular care with her makeup and hair, wore a spritz of the fancy, expensive perfume gifted to her by a man who couldn’t afford it but had been quite desperate to impress her. She’d felt very fancy indeed in the taxi, but now felt a little... outclassed. Every lady she passed while being led to the table had a fur draped over her shoulders or on the back of her chair and at least half wore sparkling tiaras. 

But when George saw her, he stood up, took her hand, kissed the back with gentlemanly flourish. “You look ravishing, Miss Ritter,” he said as the waiter pulled out a chair for her. 

“Please, Charlotte,” she said, trying her best not to feel self-conscious. 

“I can’t help but feel you have ulterior motives,” he said once he had ordered them wine and expensive steaks. He looked up at her, expression still full of mirth. 

“You could say that,” she said with a coy smile, enjoying the luxury of being poured champagne despite herself. “You agreed to come speak to us, but were still not so forthcoming in your interview with Böhm.” 

George rolled his eyes, amused. “The man was insufferable company. Not like you, my dear.” 

“What are you expecting to get with such flattery, anyway?” Charlotte said with an air of boredom, as though rich lords wined and dined her all the time. 

“Nothing but your exquisite company, I assure you,” he said, looking almost sincere. “And I’m convinced that despite your mission here, I think you enjoy mine as well.” 

Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh. “My mission? What’s that?” 

“Butter me up, of course.” 

Charlotte choked on her champagne. “Butter you... what?” 

“Sorry, English expression. Flatter me, make me pliable to questioning.” 

Their appetizers had arrived. Tiny strips of flakey pastry on smudges of green and orange, topped with caviar like so much glitter. Charlotte raised her eyebrows at him. “That depends where I'm meant to spread this butter,” she said cheekily and George grinned, a little more wolfish now. 

“Wherever you want, darling.” 

By the end of the night, Charlotte didn’t spread butter on any part of him, but he did consent to handing over his full guestlist to the station. In exchange for another date with her. And Charlotte wasn’t even dreading it. 

He dropped her off in his monstrous and gleaming private car, giving her only a chivalrous kiss on the cheek as a goodbye. A gentleman for sure, and far more likable than he had any right to be. 

However, as she undressed for bed, taking her makeup off and combing out her hair, she thought of Gereon. He’d looked so furious and annoyed at her plan to get more info from George by going to dinner with him. And it wasn’t fair. He was clearly offended that George had ignored him, that Böhm had dismissed them both to interview the man himself. But he had no right to be annoyed with _her._

Charlotte sighed, studying her reflection in the mirror, still shining with cold cream. She tried not to let his black moods lately get to her, she knew he was still reeling from Helga leaving him, though he wouldn’t say it. Always so reticent, so taciturn and closed off, like he could stuff his pain in the back of a closet and carry on as usual. She was trying to be patient with him, she really was, but his general peevishness, and now acting like a kicked puppy because she went on a date with another man was really too much... 

Could that be it? Was Gereon actually _jealous?_ Well, that just annoyed her more. He had no right to be jealous. He had had months and months to make a move if he wanted to and she wasn’t going to wait around forever. Not that she had been waiting. Certainly not. Yes, she had enjoyed their camaraderie. Finally professional equals and he had no ego at all in treating her as such. They’d get lunch together, sometimes coffee, sometimes even dinner, but only ever as colleagues. Friends, even. He’d bring her pastries in the morning. It was hard to express how much that meant to her, his shy little smile while presenting it to her, like a schoolboy with a crush. 

No. Ridiculous. Gereon wasn’t jealous of George pursuing her, per se, just of love in general. His lover had left him and he was miserable and bitter about it, end of story. 

Yet over the next few days, Gereon’s mood did not improve. On Friday morning, he looked quite miserable, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever, his expression so dour and forelorn that she forgot she was meant to be annoyed with him. He, however, had not forgotten to be annoyed with her. 

“You actually went to dinner with him?” he remarked, gaping at the guestlist delivered first thing to the station, tied with a ribbon and all. 

“Maybe,” she said evasively, still pleased with herself despite his knit brow. 

“What did you do to get this?” Böhm asked her and she shrugged. But the smile fell off her face when he continued to stare her down. 

“Not whatever you’re thinking,” she sniffed, offended. “I’m not a whore.” 

His face twisted and she could see the response he was about to say before he said it, before Gereon stepped in. _Not anymore._

“Deputy Ritter and I will look these over, cross-reference with our records,” he said sharply, touching Charlotte on the shoulder, to keep her from snapping at Böhm most likely. 

So she bit her tongue, followed Gereon into his office. Still, she felt tension rolling off him and she was annoyed all over again. “I didn’t sleep with him,” she insisted hotly. 

“I know,” he said gently, looking calmer and more kind than his usual self lately. “Please, there’s so much to go through.” 

The bundle of paper was thick and bound to take hours. Gereon tore the ribbon off, mouth twisting sourly, and tossed it in the bin. 

~~~ 

Hours and hours later and they had barely made a dent. Gereon’s eyes were starting to cross from reading the tiny print. Fishing for names in their records, making calls, crossing off name after name. So many of them were foreigners, visiting from abroad and long gone already. It was exhausting. 

However, it was easy to forget about everything troubling after spending so much of the day with Charlotte. It was like it had always been with them as partners, easy and comfortable. Chatting about this or that, making her smile. He did so love to make her smile. Charlotte was certainly quick to laugh at the best of times, but Gereon still liked to be the one to coax it out of her. As such, it was a terrible punch to the gut when around eight in the evening she looked at her watch with a disgruntled sigh. 

“I suppose I’ll have to reschedule.” 

Gereon swallowed thickly, suddenly impeded by a painful lump in this throat. “You have plans?” he said with what he dearly hoped was casual lightness. 

“George, of course. I did say I'd see him again if he gave us the guestlist.” 

“Right,” Gereon managed to mumble, hating the sound of the man’s Christian name on her lips. It was so... _familiar._ But, he had decided he wouldn’t punish her for living her own life. She deserved that much from him, at least. “You go, have fun,” he said, stiffly and unable to look at her. 

“No, it’s alright, I'm sure he’ll reschedule —" 

_“Go,”_ Gereon said, perhaps too insistently. He managed a glance at her. Her expression was quite inscrutable. 

But then she was leaving, putting on her coat and hat. “See you on Monday, then, if I'm not in tomorrow,” she said, already out the door. 

Gereon sighed, laying his head on the stack of papers once he was sure she was gone. He had forgotten it was Friday, somehow. She’d be off to spend the whole night with Lord Fuckface, then. Perhaps the rest of the weekend too, if their date went well. 

Misery choked him and he couldn’t decipher the words on the page in front of him. Charlotte had gotten what they needed from Godfrey and now her principles would not be dented in the slightest if she went to bed with him. And why shouldn’t she? He was good-looking enough. Tall. Very tall. And if he treated her well, then that was that. She deserved good things. A wealthy man courting her, making her life a tiny bit easier. He wanted her to be happy, above all else, and if she was happy with George Godfrey then so be it. It didn’t matter how he felt. It never did. 

Helga had left despite how he felt. Twice, for someone richer and better connected. Taller. Gereon had always been the spare, his parents’ least favoured son, the second choice for everyone else. He needed a drink. 

Beer and schnapps were welcome friends for the evening. After packing up his work for another day, Gereon found the nearest beerhall to deposit himself in. An endless stream of shots and cigs for his company. The men playing cheerful jazz in the corner, the knot of people dancing could not tempt this evening, not with his current mood. 

But even the pleasant fire of alcohol could not consume the images in his head of Charlotte dancing with Godfrey in some fancy club, one peopled with disgustingly wealthy and privileged elites who never gave a toss for the underlings except to exploit them. And Charlotte, despite her origins, would not have looked so out of place. She was lovely beyond words, fashionable and beautiful and fun. Charming in a way that could convince anyone she belonged on the arm of a lord. 

That was all well and good. Godfrey probably breezed into her life, thinking he’d have a bit of fun and move on, but she would charm him into wanting more. She’d have him smitten in no time, it was just her way. No one could resist. Who would want to? 

There was a young lady hanging off his arm and he was extremely drunk. So much so that he needed her to steady him, but she wasn’t much help, stumbling around and giggling the way she was. She’d sat next to him at the beerhall, introduced herself, but he couldn’t recall her name for the life of him. But she was pretty, and clinging to him, and then he was taking her home. 

He was too drunk to stand up, however. No matter, once in his flat, she let him flop on the bed like a fish on land. And he was nearly drifting off when she had taken off her clothes and climbed on, hands fumbling as she tried to undress him. He made a few halfhearted attempts to help, but he was no use. No use at all, it seemed, as she tried to coax his cock to life. 

How pathetic. He could blame it on the booze and the morphine still swimming in his veins, but really, he couldn't keep his mind away from Charlotte. She was probably in bed with Godfrey right at that moment, letting him peel off her stockings, kiss down her neck, pleasure her in every way. A man like that didn’t need to be good in bed, but he probably was. 

Meanwhile, Gereon’s new lady friend was trying to hide her disappointment in his piss poor performance. 

“I — I think it’s the schnapps,” he muttered between hiccups. 

“I should go,” she mumbled, not looking at him, searching for her dress. 

Alone again. As usual. He hadn’t noticed the tears on his face until he felt them cool and damp on his pillow. It wasn’t often that he got weepy. Even when Helga was out the door, he had kept it in, stoically drinking his sorrows into oblivion. But with any luck, he could forget it all by morning. Wash it all away in a stream of morphine from his last friend, the needle. 

~~~ 

Charlotte watched George sleep, wishing she could join him in such a contented slumber. The night had gone wonderfully, all things considered. He’d taken her to another one of his fancy restaurants and then she had taken him to one of her not-so-fancy clubs for proper dancing. George could romance her in his luxurious, British nobility way, but she could show him a good time. And he could dance, which was always a nice surprise. Champagne, vodka, and cocaine kept the party going until nearly morning and then George, shirt unbuttoned, bow tie long lost, perfect golden hair disheveled, pulled her close and invited her back to his hotel. The penthouse suite. 

Well, Charlotte was no whore. Not anymore. But she didn’t need anything from him now, just his company. And she liked him, how easily he laughed at himself, how charming and respectful he was despite the vast chasm between their respective classes. And he was a good lover. 

On the cool, butter-soft sheets of the most expensive room in the most expensive hotel in Berlin, Charlotte had let George undress her, kiss her, then she could push him down to ride astride as she preferred. And it had been vigorous and enjoyable and then George had the decency to fall asleep almost immediately and not attempt some tiresome pillow talk, which she had always hated. 

So Charlotte should have been perfectly content. She had finally got decently laid after far too long without a good fuck, busy with work and getting her own place as she was. But she was restless. 

Annoyed, Charlotte fished a cig from her bag and went to the balcony, not bothering to put on clothes. It was a little chilly, but she let herself shiver, watching the city beneath her sparkle. 

Charlotte had had more lovers than she could remember at the moment, head still a little fuzzy from alcohol and sex. None of them lasted very long, which she preferred. Whether it was for cash or fun, Charlotte liked to enjoy herself, but men were like lipstick shades. Novel at first, a new adventure every time she put it on, but soon got boring and rote. Time to toss it out and find a fresh one. 

She wondered what Gereon was doing. He’d been snippy with her again, after they had had so much fun looking through that guestlist. As much fun as two people could have while doing such mind-numbing work. It was strange how easy she found his company, how he could make boring work actually enjoyable. She’d never felt about any man the way she felt about Gereon. 

Well, he’d saved her life. He’d risked his own to pull her out of that lake and them carried her halfway down the road.

_"Will you carry me all the way back to the city?”_

_“Of course.”_

As though he didn’t even need to think about it. Of course he would, such a simple phrase, but it meant so much. 

Charlotte had never gone to war, she was too young to be a battlefield nurse. But she thought sometimes that war comrades were the deepest friendships, two soldiers going through hell together and bound firmly together forever after by all that blood and gunsmoke. Maybe it was like that with her and Gereon. 

That was why her heart fluttered a bit whenever he brought her coffee. He seemed to know she needed a cup before she did herself. But it was more than that, even; he respected her. Not just as a woman, but a colleague. He listened to her. Asked her opinion. Spoke up for her when others at the station made snide remarks about her position. 

Goose pimples covered her skin. The sky was lightening in the east, heralding morning. Her cig was gone and she let it fall over the side of the balcony, onto the crisp breeze that made her shiver. 

Back inside, George was still blessedly asleep and did not stir when she climbed under the covers. She examined him in the greyish light. Strong shoulders, a firm, muscled back, his fair hair. She could remember the rest of him from the night before, all lean and hard, sprinkled with dark golden hair across his chest. Big and lanky. Too big. She closed her eyes, thoughts of Gereon coming to her unbidden. She hadn’t thought much of him, at first, but over time she couldn’t help but notice his handsomeness. So finely featured, such exquisite bone structure. Those arresting eyes. He was smaller than George, more compact. 

Ridiculous to be daydreaming about him here, of all places. Sometimes she’d catch herself doing it at the station, admiring how he looked with his coat off, shirt sleeves rolled up, his fine forearms on display. And she’d mentally kick herself and get back to work. 

She was so tired, but sleep kept eluding her. She needed another cigarette. 

~~~ 

Gereon overslept again on Monday. Still, he tried to pretend nothing was wrong as he strolled into the station, late. No pastries today. 

Gräf came to his office with a lopsided grin. “You missed a meeting.” 

“Did I?” Gereon remarked airily, pulling out the work he had left for Friday. 

“No need to bother with that now. It’s closed.” 

Gereon looked up sharply. “Closed? Already?” 

Gräf shrugged. “Pathology found a mass in his liver. He was dying of cancer. And then his best friend came in early this morning, coughed up the truth. A suicide to look like a murder, as not to cause his poor wife the pain.” 

“I see,” Gereon muttered, tapping his desk with his fingertips. He should be pleased, and yet... 

“Strange, isn’t it? The wife is still in pain and now she knows the truth anyway.” 

“Hmm,” Gereon responded, mind elsewhere. 

“Oh, good morning!” came Charlotte’s voice and Gereon forced himself to look at her. “You heard?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful, a suicide after all,” he deadpanned. 

“You look well,” Gräf said to Charlotte, his tone a little snide. 

Charlotte giggled. _Giggled._ “It was a fun weekend,” she said breezily. 

Gräf laughed along with her and Gereon provided a tight smile. She did look well. Extremely well. Glowing, even. Good for her. 

“Lunch, anyone?” she said brightly and Gräf agreed jovially as Gereon shook his head. 

“Too much to do, I had a late start.” 

Charlotte hummed, looking slightly put out. “If you say so.” 

He watched them leave, heart high in his throat. It felt as though his insides had been replaced with cement. He was happy for her. He was. She deserved nice things. Things he probably would never be able to give her. 

And this was something he had to keep reminding himself as the days turned weeks and then months. Charlotte seemed to very carefully not mention Godfrey to him but he’d hear from elsewhere anyway. Like from Gräf, who apparently liked the man very much. He was just such a likable guy, it seemed. 

The change in Charlotte was impossible to miss. She was no longer the thin, waifish girl from Wedding these days. There was a healthy glow to her entire being and couldn’t just from being much better fed. Her clothes were nicer. Her disposition cheery as ever. 

Sometimes he could forget about Lord Cairns. Like when they spent the whole day running all over Berlin, chasing down a lead who turned out to be in prison all along, just under a different name. They were still laughing about it back at the station, sharing a sandwich. Gereon let Charlotte have more than half. 

“The look on your face, though,” Charlotte giggled. “I should have taken a picture.” 

“It’s a bit like finding your wallet in your coat pocket all along,” he muttered, amused despite how aggravating the day had been. 

Charlotte was still laughing, pushing back her hair. And the bright lights of the station caught something sparkly on her ear. A diamond, judging from its unmistakable fire. A good sized one at that. 

These things always seemed to catch him at odd moments. Reminders that someone was giving Charlotte diamonds that were probably worth his entire paycheque. He bit into his sandwich despite not being hungry at all anymore. 

“Anyway,” she said briskly, apparently not noticing his sudden shift in mood. “I can’t work this weekend, so it’s good we found him now.” 

“Oh?” Gereon said lightly. Or what he hoped was lightly. “Going on a trip?” 

She nodded, smile on her lips, the diamond on her ear winking mockingly. “France. George says he’s got a very small, modest flat, but I'm sure he’s lying. He’s a terrible liar.” She laughed fondly and it was acid in Gereon’s mouth, sliding down his throat. 

“Sounds fun. Have a good time.” He was short with her, trying very hard not to be. But Charlotte’s expression changed anyway. As though disappointed. 

“I will,” she muttered, looking away. Gereon was glad. He couldn’t have looked at her in that moment without breaking. 

~~~ 

And Charlotte did have a good time. There was no way she couldn’t. George’s modest flat was a grand, lavish affair. They had taken the train, a first-class compartment where Charlotte had never been, and the first gift was waiting for her in a large box on the huge, decadent bed, tied with a silk ribbon. 

“George,” she gasped as the box yielded a mink stole, warm chestnut in colour and almost unbearably soft. “It’s too much.” 

“Not for you, my dear,” he breathed, draping it over her shoulders and kissing her neck. “Perfect. You complete it.” 

So when he took Charlotte to dinner that night, a Parisian restaurant with a baroque interior, ivory flowers carved into every surface, the flatware made of gleaming silver, she should have felt comfortable now. She had her mink now, and a sheath dress made of glistening, champagne-coloured silk, matching shoes, the diamond earrings he’d given her a few weeks before and the necklace he had presented her early in the evening. Even without a diamond tiara, Charlotte thought she was in proper company with the other ladies in their ermine and sapphires, glittering in a crust of fine silver and gold. 

But it still felt like she was a player in the strangest play. She didn’t belong in this world, all gilt and sparkling, so finely wrought. Maybe it was just that it didn’t make her as happy as it should have. 

George was telling her about all the clubs he would take her to, the shopping and the museums. Charlotte replied enthusiastically, because yes, that all sounded so much fun. Of course she was having fun. 

They strolled along the Seine later, past midnight, the moon high in the sky, glittering on the water. Charlotte tried to pay attention to the story he was telling her, something about the horse he owned as a boy, but she wasn’t really listening. Blame it on the French champagne. 

Maybe it was the bubbly that made her think of Gereon, too. About the things they might talk about while strolling by this same river. She suddenly longed to know his opinion on the art they had seen that evening at the Louvre. What would he say to her on such a romantic night, her arm in his? 

“Sleepy, darling?” George said, squeezing her hand. 

Pulled from her daydream, Charlotte only smiled. “A bit.” 

Perhaps if she kept smiling, he wouldn’t see how her heart ached. 

The next morning, Charlotte pretended she had gotten enough sleep and hadn’t laid staring at the gilded ceiling for hours after their lovemaking. She donned the shell pink silk robe George had gotten her and used the bathroom, combing her hair and staring herself down in the mirror for far too long. When she emerged, she was surprised to find George there as well. On one knee. 

“I wanted to do this at the top of the Eiffel Tower, but I just couldn’t wait,” he said with a lopsided grin. 

Charlotte stopped dead, unable to remember how to form words suddenly. There was a ring box in his hand. And in it, a sparkling ring. Its fire cut like glass. 

“I know, I know, you never thought you’d marry, but hear me out,” he said in a rush. “But I love you, we have a blast, my family will love you, I know they would. They need some fresh blood to mix things up. _I_ need you in my life. Lotte.” 

His eyes were big in his face. Too grey, though, not enough blue. 

“Oh, George,” she finally managed to say, and from her tone alone, his face fell. 

Who knew it would be a diamond that broke her heart. 

~~~ 

Gereon was surprised to see Charlotte’s coat and hat on the rack at the station on Monday. And so early too. She was often at work early, but he figured her Parisian excursion would keep her away longer. 

He found her in his office, industriously cleaning out his filing cabinet. 

“Charlotte?” he said in confusion and she turned to look at him. 

It was clear something was wrong. Her face was pale, tight looking as though she were barely clinging on to a calm, fractured exterior. "Good morning,” she said briskly, before turning back to the stacks of papers she was evidently sifting through. 

“Did you have a good trip?” he ventured awkwardly and her shoulders stiffened. 

“Yes, it was lovely,” she said in a tone that suggested the opposite. “George asked me to marry him.” 

“Oh,” was all that Gereon could manage, groping for his desk to support him, knees suddenly too unsteady to hold him. “That’s wonderful.” It sounded choked even to him. There was a rushing in his ears, an avalanche crashing down around him. Burying him. 

“Gereon —” 

“It’s wonderful, I'm so happy for you.” He was desperate to get away, but it couldn’t seem to manage it. Married. She’d be Lady Cairns. He couldn’t be more happy. 

“Gereon, no —” 

“I just need, if you’ll excuse me —” 

“Gereon!” 

Charlotte was standing right before him now, blocking his escape. He forced himself to look at her. 

“I am happy for you,” he said in a small voice, hard as it was to get the words out. Her eyes shimmered, watery and bright. 

“You _idiot.”_ And she punched him. Not hard, barely a push against his shoulder, really, but he still stumbled, unsteady as he was. 

“Wait, how am I an idiot?” he muttered, completely lost as real tears ran down Charlotte’s lovely face. “I —” He gestured desperately, the words caught somewhere inside him, hooks around his rapidly beating heart. 

“Gereon,” she said softly and took a hold of the knot in his tie, holding him still. Still enough for her to kiss him. 

Her lips on his was like metal sparking against metal. Hot, electric and intense. It was enough to knock the wind out of him. Good thing she was there to hold him if he fell. 

“I’m not marrying him,” Charlotte said against his lips. “OK?” 

“OK,” he mumbled, mouth aching to be back on hers again. 

The kiss deepened. They stumbled together, locked in each other’s arms. Gereon held her like she might break, a china figurine too delicate for his clumsy hands. But Charlotte clung fiercely to him, hands in his hair, disheveling his finely oiled undercut. Her nails dug into his neck and he moaned, pushing against her as she fell against his desk, knocking a flurry of papers on the floor. But he couldn’t stop, feeling her move against him, warmth spreading through his lower belly. She took his hand, pressed it against her breast and he groaned, hips bucking against her as if on their own accord. 

There was a tentative tap on the door and they both jumped, breaking apart. Gereon nearly slipped on the papers scattered on the floor and Charlotte grabbed his arm to steady him as Gräf appeared in the doorway that Gereon hadn’t even bothered to close. 

“Not to be a bucket of cold water or anything, but we are at work,” he said with a cheeky grin. 

Beside him, Charlotte giggled as Gereon felt his face burn, hands automatically going to smooth his hair. Gräf merely strode away, chuckling to himself. Heart still racing, Gereon turned back to Charlotte. She was smiling, almost shyly. Her cheeks pink, lips so soft and tempting. He just looked at her for a long moment, everything in him burning for her. He reached out, brushed a stray curl off her cheek and she caught his hand, kissed it on his open palm. 

“Back to work,” she said evenly, hopping off the desk and crouching down to pick up the scattered paper. 

Gereon felt a genuine smile on his face for the first time in ages as he tugged up his trouser legs to kneel down beside her. 

The rest of the day seemed to last for years. There did happen to be work to do, but Gereon found it impossible to focus. And Charlotte kept popping into his office for seemingly no reason. Once it was to return a pen. 

“I know you really like that pen,” she said with a ridiculous grin on her face. 

“I do,” he muttered, their fingers touching as she handed it to him. He found himself holding her wrist, cradling it in his hand. He couldn’t help but bring it to his lips, brushing a kiss on her fluttering pulse. He could have sworn he felt her tremble. 

Around midday, Gereon couldn’t stand the ants under his skin. He approached Charlotte slowly at her desk, entranced suddenly by the way the sunlight fell across her hair, brightening it with strands of burnished gold. 

“Charlotte,” he said softly and she looked up, eyes bright and intense. 

“Yes?” she said, breathless, cheeks glowing. 

Words failed him for a moment and he forcefully reminded himself they were still in the crowded station. “I wanted to know if you felt like lunch,” he replied lamely. 

She grinned, as though he had offered her the world. “I’d love lunch. Aschinger?” 

“Absolutely.” 

It was crowded, being lunchtime, but Gereon didn’t mind, standing close to Charlotte as they waited for their table, her hand occasionally brushing his. As they were seated, it felt different from all the other times when they had eaten here as colleagues. As friends. He felt nervous, but in a way that didn’t send his thoughts into a terrible, downward spiral. It was the sort of giddy excitement that made his heart leap. 

Still, he could barely eat and Charlotte was picking off his plate without even needing to ask. He would always share his food with her. 

“I was thinking,” he ventured awkwardly, longing to grasp her hand as it lay across the table. “That we have dinner tonight. Maybe go dancing?” 

Charlotte nodded, green eyes twinkling. “Sounds nice. _However...”_

“However?” he repeated, heart hammering. He could feel her foot under the table, rubbing teasingly along his ankle. 

“I thought it would be nicer if I take you home and fuck your brains out.” 

Gereon choked, coughing so hard on his cig that he had to put it out. “That’s a better idea, yeah,” he said, cheeks red and hot. 

She grinned at him, foot still tickling his ankle. Gereon saw the waiter approach with their cheque and he had to drop a napkin in his lap to hide his shame. 

~~~ 

The moment they entered Charlotte’s flat, she pulled him into a searing kiss. It felt like she had been waiting years for this. She could feel his own pull towards her, in the way his hands gripped at her, their fine tremor. Charlotte itched hotly for him, her skin tingling in a way it never had for anyone else. And he was such a gentleman, so careful with her, like he was afraid she would shatter under the weight of his passion. Impatient, she took him by his slim hips and ground against him, relishing his strangled moan. 

But then he pulled away, falling to his knees in front of her. He hugged her tight around the middle, burying his face in the folds of her shirt. 

“Lotte,” he mumbled, looking up at her through those long lashes, so vulnerable, she thought her heart might burst. 

She cupped his face, ran a hand through his hair as he unbuttoned her trousers, tugged them down. “Bed,” she said insistently and he followed her to the small, creaky bed that felt better and more familiar than the lavish decadence with George ever had. 

Gereon's eyes shone as she gently pushed him down, climbed on top, tugging off his suspenders and pulling his shirt over his head. He seemed too overwhelmed by her touch to do anything but follow her lead, and still, they were half-dressed when she sunk down on his cock, moaning in unison at the exquisite feeling. 

He bit his lip hard, gripping her hips as she rocked. But he didn’t let her ride him passively, his hips working just as hard to arch up and into her, breathing sharply with each thrust. He felt so good inside her, his cock thick and hard, his sparse chest hair rough under her hands. She took his hand, sucked his thumb into her mouth to wet it and he groaned sharply at the feeling before her guided it to her clit, showing him how to get her off. Of course he was a fast learner, his brow furrowed in concentration as he rubbed at her, and combined with his cock inside her was too much. She felt her toes curl, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder as she came, hard, sudden and delicious. Like she hadn’t been touched in years. 

Sated, she slumped over his chest. His skin was hot on hers, his heart beating hard against her cheek. But poor Gereon was still bucking restless inside her, breathy groans falling into her hair. Charlotte laughed, beyond happy as she helped them turn over, hitching her legs up over his hips so he could push deep inside. His groan of pleasure was thick and he gasped her name like one of his catechisms. She was still so sensitive between her legs, her whole body flushed with pleasure that when Gereon pushed up her camisole to suck an exposed nipple, Charlotte gasped, tightening around him. She was going to come again. This time with Gereon along for the ride; his thrusts fell out of rhythm, and he faltered, crying out as he came, Charlotte falling over that cliff beside him, her second orgasm more intense for the pleasure of having it with him. 

It was sweeter than any chocolate torte served to her at a high-class Parisian patisserie. Gereon lying in her arms after their exhaustive lovemaking, hair falling in his face. She counted his freckles, the beauty spot on his cheek and the ones on his forehead. He looked at her with such adoring reverence it almost made her shy. She wasn’t sure what she could have done to make him look at her with such love. 

This part was usually her least favourite in the sport of lovemaking. When a man either got too clingy or too dismissive, when they would pull and tug at her, want to talk about their feelings. Or roll over and leave her alone like George had done, something she thought she had wanted at the time. But Gereon seemed to be perfect without even trying. It was a cozy, familiar comfort to be in his arms. She had never felt so safe than when he carried her, wet and dripping, from the lake. And here they were, sweat drying on their skin, pressed together in an abiding warmth. 

“Sorry,” Gereon mumbled into her hair sometime later, when Charlotte still hadn’t grown tired of their post-coital snuggle. 

She laughed, startled at the apology. “For what?” 

“I’ve been miserable to you,” he said, face still hidden. Perhaps he could only be so vulnerable with her arms wrapped around him, naked and warm. 

“You were,” she agreed, but without any bitterness. “But it doesn’t matter now.” 

Gereon made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, pushing his face into her neck, arms curved under her waist, the other cupping her breast. 

She probably loved him, Charlotte admitted to herself. It made sense, though she had never loved anyone except her mother and sister. And that was strange enough, loving a man she slept with, but that loving him would make her feel happy and not afraid was highly unexpected. And that she would fall asleep beside him. 

~~~ 

Morning came with the birds’ song. Gereon hadn’t slept much, but it wasn’t for the usual reasons. He would doze, exhausted, and then be suddenly awake, amazed to find Charlotte still beside him, cocooned in his arms. It felt unbearable to miss even one moment of being with her, whether by being asleep or otherwise. He felt like he could look at her forever and never grow bored. She looked beautiful asleep, hair on the pillow like an angel’s wing, hands curled up by her face, the lovely curve of her neck. 

It all felt curiously unreal. That she wasn’t marrying Godfrey, that she was here beside him instead. What ever could have convinced her to turn him down? It felt absurd. 

But as morning crept over them both, Charlotte shifted, groaning in the throes of waking. She stretched, body shifting against him. And when she opened her eyes, Gereon counted every shade of colour in her iris, from the spring green to the burnished copper. 

“Morning,” she said with a happy smile, reaching up to brush his cheek with her knuckles. 

“It’s late,” he said. “We should be at work.” 

Charlotte shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Oh well. I think we should have breakfast in bed.” 

That sounded like an excellent idea. He put a call into The Castle explained that he was too sick to come in. And Charlotte too. Most mysterious. Böhm sounded furious, but Gereon couldn’t bring himself to care. The only food she had in the flat was bread, but she did have butter and jam, and he and Charlotte enjoyed a breakfast of toast with hot, black coffee. She devoured her toast hungrily, as though she hadn’t eaten in days and Gereon smiled, charmed by the smudge of jam on her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. 

“You really turned him down,” he said once they had finished and swept as many crumbs as they could off the bedspread. He couldn’t look at her at first, not until she touched his cheek, tipped his face towards hers. 

“Of course I did. I couldn’t marry him.” 

“No?” 

“I don’t love him.” 

“Ah.” Gereon felt his heart swell in his chest, a hot air balloon billowing into the sky. 

“Come here,” Charlotte said, pulling back the sheets and beckoning him beside her. “Hold me again.” 

He couldn’t deny her that. He couldn’t deny her anything. 

_“I love you,”_ he mouthed silently into her hair. Maybe he could say it to her out loud sometime. Sometime soon. Maybe she already knew. 


End file.
